


Dream The Crow Black Dream

by ravensnwritingdesks



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Nightmares, Pining, Slice of Life, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-07-08 05:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15923483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravensnwritingdesks/pseuds/ravensnwritingdesks
Summary: A story about three men and their traumas in the wake of Grindelwald's infiltration of MACUSA.Set at some point between the first and second movies.





	Dream The Crow Black Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KatieHavok](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieHavok/gifts).



> A song fic inspired by The Cure's ["Burn"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Aj-9-3f0kr8).

Light – cold and blinding. Terrifying after the encompassing comfort of the dark.

 _Look at you now, Director._ The menacing laughter rings loud in his ears after the silence of hours, days past. _Have you changed your mind?_

Metal bites into his skin where the shackles hold him up against the wall, draining him, keeping him barely alive. But he is not broken yet.

A whisper. A flash. Pain. So much pain.

_**"Don't look, don't look" the shadows breathe  
Whispering me away from you** _

Percival Graves wakes in the dead of night, heart pounding frantically inside its cage as his mind struggles to catch up with the change of scenery. He stares up at the ceiling, taking panting breaths as he focusses on the familiar shadows that the street lights paint onto the walls and ceiling. Trying to calm himself.

_Nightmare. Not real._

The fast drumbeat pulsing in his ears slowly but surely settles down into a more soothing throb. Air flows more easily into his lungs as his body finally begins to relax again. 

_You’re home, Perce. You’re alive._

Deep breaths. A well-rehearsed routine. 

_**"Don't wake at night to watch her sleep** _  
_**You know that you will always lose** _  
_**This trembling, adored** _  
_**Tousled bird mad girl"** _

As so often, he is not alone. The body next to his emits a comforting warmth and Percival turns towards it instinctively, seeking some form of solace in his company. Just a nightmare, but the memory of pain still lingers.

A flash of silvery white greets him in the dark. Calculating, two-toned eyes smirk at him as his companion turns around to face him.

Arms wrap tightly around his body. _Will we die just a little?_

_No!_

_**But every night I burn  
But every night I call your name ** _

It’s the impact on cold hardwood floor that wakes him, properly this time. His head hurts and something is twisted and turned around his torso. Something white and soft, nearly choking the breath out of him while stifling him in unwelcome heat. 

He claws and kicks at the comforter – not deserving of its name – until it finally releases him. Precious air fills his lungs, cools his sweat-slick skin as he works to calm himself once more. 

_Just a nightmare._

The bed is empty when he finally risks a glance. Percival breaths a deep sigh of relief and untangles himself before unsteadily climbing to his feet. The cry on his lips had been anything but silent, he knows very well. It never is. He'd been told more than once, during the night or the next morning. It’s why he never lets them stay for more than a night. 

Sparing one last glance at the tousled sheets, he slips into his dressing gown, reaches for the cane and makes for the door. There would be no more sleep tonight. Not here. Not without help.

_**Every night I burn  
Every night I fall again** _

The downstairs parlour welcomes him like an old friend. Life breathes into the fireplace as he settles into the comfort of his arm chair, nursing a drink for his frayed nerves. The smell of leather and fine whiskey. A well-rehearsed routine. Months of time to perfect it.

 _Will it ever stop?_ By now he was inclined to answer _No_.

Though long healed by now, the phantom pain around his shackled wrists still remains. Even more so after his dreams take him back. For six more glasses of burning liquid at least. Then the soothing darkness finally claims him again… until cold, blinding light wakes him again.

Percival groans. Sun light.

_Well, you made it through another night._

 

* * *

 

Dark hair, a smiling face. _I’d like that._ Warmth, happiness blooming. 

Her eyes shimmer like liquid when he leaves for the ship, just like the silvery morning light flooding through the openings behind her.

Shimmering, liquid light. Rising and rising and he watches helplessly as the boat takes him away. It swallows the ground with a hiss, swallows the hall, swallows everything. Swallows her, still smiling at him as if nothing were wrong. 

Newt Scamander wakes with a gasp, feeling paralysed in horror as he gazes into the darkness of his bedroom. 

_**"Oh, don't talk of love" the shadows purr  
Murmuring me away from you**_

A worried chirp finally pulls him out of his stupor and he peels himself out of bed. The feelings of terror, helplessness still linger in him, but he gives the Bowtruckle a quick smile.

_I’m all right, Pick._

Tired feet carry him into the kitchen in search for some relief. Dark, crumbling leaves. A boiling kettle. The familiarity of a well-practised routine. He sits at the table with a comforting cup of tea in hand, a single candle keeping the dark of night at bay.

A nightmare. Nothing but a nightmare. MACUSA’s Death Chamber... it just wouldn’t leave him alone, no matter how often he reminded himself that the reality ended differently. The silvery liquid didn’t get to them, to her.

His gaze wanders around the small room in search for something to focus on, occupy his thoughts. 

_**"Don't talk of worlds that never were** _  
_**The end is all that's ever true** _  
_**There's nothing you can ever say** _  
_**Nothing you can ever do"** _

It falls on a book, blue and gold but now neatly wrapped in protective paper. An official letter rests on top, stamped and sealed. Crushing black words on stark white paper. A different sort of helplessness fills him at the sight and he sighs. Maybe those dreams had a meaning to them after all.

_You lost her the moment you left her._

There is a box of other letters in a drawer of his desk, a box that hadn’t been been added to in weeks. No more messages from Tina, no mor replies. He couldn’t fathom why.

_But you know why. You annoy people._

The too hot tea scalds his tongue, his throat as Newt empties it too quickly. But it works wonders to shut up the little voice in the back of his head.

**_Still every night I burn_ **  
**_Every night I scream your name_**  
**_Every night I burn_**  
**_Every night the dream's the same_**

It does nothing to alleviate the still lingering effects of his nightmare, though. There would be no more sleep tonight, at least not the restful kind. Tea doesn’t numb the way other remedies would, but those he needed to be careful with.

It wouldn’t do to give the _Daily Prophet_ anything more to gossip about, so distraction it is. 

Determined, he steps through the enchanted cupboard under the stairs and climbs down into his workspace. The soothing sounds and scents of his magical menagerie wash over him like a balm as he goes to work.Blue eyes flash at him from one of the nests, but Dougal doesn't come by to join him tonight. 

_**Every night I burn** _  
_**Waiting for my only friend** _  
_**Every night I burn** _  
_**Waiting for the world to end** _

He keeps busy long enough to work through his misery and shake off the remnants of the dream. A smile comes readily to his lips when he greets his assistant hours later. 

_You’ve been busy this morning_ , she observes, finding her usual chores for the morning done already. Newt shrugs. 

Another box of letters has arrived for him. They are numerous, but no familiar handwriting greets him as he sorts through the pile. Not that he had expected it. But it would be nice, at least, to find out what he had done wrong. 

 

* * *

 

Water splashes against his skin, cold and refreshing after the long hours of hard work.

Credence catches his reflection in the bucket of water, waiting for the ripples to cease only to find a stranger looking back at him. Hair cropped, gaze confident and clear. Gone was the sad, lonely boy from the street corner. He had turned into a man on a mission.

_If only they could see me now.  
_

His hidden power bubbles, rages beneath his skin at the thought of those who hurt him. Mary Lou and her followers, Mr. Graves and his empty promises. White fills his eyes for a short moment before he reigns himself in again. 

_Control._ You _need to be in control._

And for the first time in his life he is. It’s a lot harder than expected.

_**"Just paint your face" the shadows smile  
Slipping me away from you** _

_Back to work, boy!_ The booming voice of the Director calls him back to attention. _I don’t pay you for daydreaming._

He isn’t paid at all. But Credence keeps his head down, keeps on working for his fare. Not letting his emotions show. It is the best way to get by, he had learned early on. This is only temporary, after all, a means to an end. 

These people will take him to Paris. The hope for a better life and a long lost family. Corvus is still a name he needs to get used to.

**_"Oh it doesn't matter how you hide_ **  
**_Find you if we're wanting to_**  
**_So slide back down and close your eyes_**  
**_Sleep a while, you must be tired..."_**

Keeping up this normal façade is exhausting, though. Keeping his powers and emotions in check. He sighs. Rest. He just wants some rest. From people ordering him about, from hiding who and what he is.

In some ways this circus life was just as restricting as his life with the Second Salemers. Just as hateful.

_You know what to do._

He ducks his head and ignores the tempting voice inside. He had followed its suggestions once… and in the end had been killed for it. Or should have been. He had killed his horrible adoptive mother for her lies and blind hatred, her cruelty. 

The woman had been right on one account, though: There seems to be no rest for the wicked.

_**But every night I burn** _  
_**Every night I call your name** _  
_**Every night I burn** _  
_**Every night I fall again** _  
_**Every night I burn** _  
_**Scream the animal scream** _

It is late before he can go and find a bed for the night. Exhaustion tries to lure him into sleep… but that won't give him the relief he yearns for. Not with his dreams of pain and destruction.

No, his rest lies elsewhere these days.

The spacious circus tent is empty and dark around him. His eyes fall shut as Credence finally lets go, feeling himself dissolve and floating into darkness. Blissful peace floods through him as he rises up. 

  _ **Every night I burn**_  
_**Dream the crow black dream**_  
_**Dream the crow black dream**_

The Obscurus takes the reigns from him and lets him unwind. A whirling, oily mass hovering lazily in the shadows beneath the domed roof. Free and content to just _be_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think... since this is rather different to my usual writing and all ;)
> 
> * * *
> 
> If you are interested in getting a notification for any new story I post, you can subscribe to my [AO3 profile](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ravensnwritingdesks/pseuds/ravensnwritingdesks).  
> You can also follow my tumblr [@ravens-and-writings](https://ravens-and-writings.tumblr.com/) for updates, previews and other fun stuff about Newtina, Fantastic Beasts and the Potterverse in general.  
> 


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